


sweet, sweet fate

by bottomlinsons



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Meetings, M/M, Romance, Soulmarks, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17740277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottomlinsons/pseuds/bottomlinsons
Summary: Harry’s lived with a NSFW soulmark for almost twenty-five years now. When he finally meets the man responsible, he gives him a little piece of his mind.





	sweet, sweet fate

**Author's Note:**

> big up to yas for looking this over and to babs for letting me throw silly questions at her at all hours of the night and coming up with simply spectacular answers x

◆

“Where do you keep your biggest dildos?”

The voice carries over the counter. Harry’s ducked down, his back towards the door, trying desperately to make sense of the store’s absolutely frightful receipting system. He’s in a bad mood already, grumpy that Clare’s called in sick again, that he’s working on one of his rare days off, that his stupid boss has made receipting Harry’s issue _again_. His neck hurts from how he’s hunched over, and the current state of things means he’s not going to be getting up any time soon.

All of this — all the anger, all the frustration — it freezes in its tracks when the words finally register. For a moment, he is suspended in time and space, receipts forgotten, unable to breathe. Then, like a wave crashing on the shore, the anger floods back, white hot.

He spins around.

“You!” he shouts.

He shouldn’t be shouting at customers. He can’t help it.

The boy, short, wonderful cheekbones, messy hair, eyes brighter than the sky, startles. “Me?”

Harry can barely comprehend words.

“You -—you’re the one — how — ?” The more Harry talks, the wider the boy’s eyes get. It’s like maybe he’s starting to recognise the words coming out of Harry’s mouth, like he’s starting to recognise what that _means._ “Who the fuck just starts a conversation like that?”

Harry’s got a massive cardigan on, it’s super fluffy and super comfy and has sleeves that come all the way down past his fingers if he doesn’t roll them up. He yanks it up all the way to his elbow and exposes the bandage that’s wrapped around his forearms.

“Do you even know — “ there’s a chance he’s really frightening this bloke, what with the frantic eyes and raised voice, but he truly can’t help it. This has been dying to spill out of him for _years._ He tugs at the bandage, starts unwrapping it. “ — What it’s like, to have _this_ on your body? My mum had to read that when I was _born._ I knew what a dildo was before I started first form. You’re the whole reason I even work at a sex shop — you decided my career path before I could even talk! I — you —”

He keeps unwrapping the bandage. When he tugs it free, a thrill of panic sings through him. He hasn’t had his mark out in the open since he was about five. The panic carries him away and he falls breathlessly silent.

The little shop feels suddenly very small.

The boy looks stunned, a little windswept by Harry’s outburst. His cheeks are pink, his eyes are dazed, but he’s smiling.

It’s really quite lovely.

After a moment, he speaks.

“Okay,” he says slowly, the word drawn out.

Harry swallows. “Okay.”

He’s still holding his arm out like a berk. His skin there is very pale, with stark tan lines where the bandage had been. It makes the words even more obvious, the contrast of the black words stark against his pale skin.

“You’re my soulmate.”

And, oh, yeah. That’s what all of this means. This is Harry’s soulmate, standing in front of him. His soulmate.

“Yeah,” Harry says.

The boy’s smile is growing, more and more with every silent second that passes. He looks thoughtful, still a little shell-shocked, but his eyes are light with what looks like the same exhilaration that's thumping through Harry’s veins. All of his hesitation has vanished by the time he reaches up and, keeping his gaze level with Harry’s, starts undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Harry goes pink. He can feel it as it heats his cheeks. “Uh. What are you doing?”

He’s heard of the instant connection between soulmates, the immediate passion that comes with falling so wholly in sync with another person. And honestly? He kind of gets it, staring across the counter at the divine man who was apparently made to be with him, but he’s not quite ready to move _that_ fast.

The boy just keeps grinning though. With every button that he opens, he exposes more and more golden tan skin and — oh, what’s that? Black lines in handwriting that looks very familiar.

Once his shirt is completely open, Harry is able to read his own words, printed clear on this boy’s chest.

Apparently only the first two or three sentences of Harry’s rant counts as his own ‘first words’. His rant feels unfinished, a little awkward, and extra angry, written out on his soulmate’s skin. There’s even an exclamation point.

“I’ve spent my entire life trying to figure out what the hell I could’ve said to make you this angry,” the boy says. “I get it now, though. It’s nice to meet you.”

A very warm feeling replaces all of Harry’s anger. It’s soft, the same as Harry’s cardigan.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” he says. He looks at the mark some more, drinks in his own words. “I didn’t know marks could have punctuation.”

The boy raises a brow, still smiling. It’s the perfect expression for him; all that mischief looks perfectly at home, combined with the boy's sharp eyes and angled cheekbones.

“They don’t usually. Your words are pretty rare, I’ve been told.”

Harry blushes some more.“Right,” he says. “Sorry.”

His soulmate tilts his head a little. “All good,” he says. “I think you’re allowed to be a bit grumpy. You’ve got a good reason.”

Harry nods. It’s awkward.

“Right,” he says again.

The boy leans in then, looking wicked.

“Can I have a do-over?”

Harry swallows. “A what?”

The boy nods at the words on Harry’s arm. It’s only now Harry remembers he’s still holding it out - and wow, that kind of hurts his muscles to keep it outstretched so long. He drops it back down at his side.

“A do-over,” his soulmate says, “of the words. I’ve practiced them.”

He can’t, not really. The words, the first words he’s said to Harry, are always gonna be ‘ _where do you keep your biggest dildos.’_ That’s always gonna be on Harry’s skin, in a clumsy sort of cursive that Harry’s absolutely enchanted by, even if he’s never admitted that to a soul.

“Alright then,” Harry says. “Let’s hear it.”

“Kay,” his soulmate grins. “Hi, my name’s Louis. I say silly things sometimes, but I’ve been waiting to meet you my entire life and I’m not at all sorry this is how it’s happened. Please don’t be angry with me.”

Louis.

His soulmate’s name is _Louis._

Happiness blooming warm in Harry’s chest, Harry can’t keep the smile off his face. He can feel it as his entire body softens, enchanted, his shoulders dropping as all of the air whooshes out his lungs.

“Hi Louis,” he says, and even though he can’t quite breathe properly, the words come out calm and assured. “I’m Harry, and I’m not really that sorry either.”

He’s not lying. Having to sit down with his mother and talk for an hour about what exactly a dildo was, how it worked and why someone would be interested in a bigger one, was probably one of the most awkward moments of his life. Now, with Louis standing in front of him, Harry knows he would have that conversation a thousand times again to make sure he got to this time and this place with this soulmate.

He steps out from behind the counter. Every inch closer makes the air feel more and more electric. He leans his hip against the counter top, and grins.

“What now?” Louis asks. “Shall we get a coffee or something?”

Harry shoots him his slyest look. “Don’t you want to see our biggest dildos?”

Louis’s eyes flash with something very playful and very, very intriguing. He gives Harry a long once over, that makes Harry’s skin feel hot.

“Why don’t we put the dildos on hold for the moment?” Louis suggests innocently, his tone a polar opposite to the heat in his gaze. “Something tells me I might not need one straight away.”

Harry grins.

Turns out he’s had the best fucking words this entire time.

◆

**Author's Note:**

> absolutely love writing these short fics, they're fun as hell 
> 
> thanks to the mods for organising this fic fest


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